Poetic Ramblings, Too

Again, I’m no poet, but this one is for my baby boy:

For Finn

My little bruiser,
I see you at one,
grabbing my pants at the knees
for me to lift you.
Looking down at your face
is like looking into a mirror
back through time
before these scars and lines.

We are on my porch swing.
Your head rests on my shoulder,
and I feel your soft breath
through my shirt.
I’m singing lullabies to you,
but at two you still fight sleep,
so we swing for an hour,
and I sing you every song I know.

My little clone,
we are in the pool.
You cling to me
like a cat not wanting to leave the sofa,
at three still scared to float alone
even with a life jacket.
You squeal with delight
at every bounce we take,
and I’m glad the water
hides my tears.
Our time is always so short.

My youngest boy,
my Finnster,
your voice is the sweetest sound
on this Earth, so ethereal, so tender.
Your laughter pieces back together
these fragments of my heart.
My son, I never believed I was handsome
until I saw your face.

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